The Colorblind Turn in Indian Country: Lumbee Indians, Civil Rights, and Tribal State Formation
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
The Colorblind Turn in Indian Country: Lumbee Indians, Civil Rights, and Tribal State Formation by Harold Walker Elliott A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy (History) in the University of Michigan 2019 Doctoral Committee: Professor Philip Deloria, Co-Chair, Harvard University Professor Matthew Lassiter, Co-Chair Associate Professor Matthew Countryman Professor Barbra Meek Professor Tiya Miles, Harvard University Harold Walker Elliott [email protected] ORCID iD 0000-0001-5387-3188 © Harold Walker Elliott 2019 DEDICATION To my father and mother, Hal and Lisa Elliott And for Lessie Sweatt McCloud, her ancestors, and her descendants ii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This dissertation is the culmination of eight years of graduate study and nearly a decade of research, writing, and editing. The result is deeply imperfect. Its faults come from my many shortcomings as an author. For anything this project does accomplish, I owe credit to the many people who have helped me along the way. Completing this project would have been impossible without the love, support, and inspiration of my parents, Hal and Lisa Elliott. During my upbringing, they instilled the values that guided me through the moral choices that a project like this one entails. My mother and her family have always been the driving forces behind my research into Lumbee and American Indian history. My father, a reluctant physician, passed down his fondness for history and dream of writing it. In the many difficult moments over the past eight years, my parents steadied me with long hugs or reassuringly familiar, South Carolina-accented voices on the phone. Their unconditional love and tireless support saw me through periods of emotional turmoil, financial instability, intellectual frustration, and physical exhaustion. This project is woefully inadequate as repayment for their countless sacrifices. I can only hope to make them proud and show them how much I love them too. I could have never finished this project without my partner, Jasmine Zweifler. Over the past year and a half, she’s guided me through the final, most desolate leg of this journey. Our bond has been strong from the beginning, but I’ve been amazed at her warmth and understanding in the many moments I’ve been distracted from giving our partnership the attention it deserves. iii Although warmth and understanding would have more than sufficed, she’s given so much more than that. She’s convinced me to eat and drink when otherwise I wouldn’t have. She’s patted my head and told me everything would be okay when I was scared and couldn’t sleep. She’s tolerated the cocoon of coffee cups, notebooks, archival copies, and other assorted filth that envelops my workspace, despite her understandable distress at such an eyesore amid her carefully selected living room décor. Most of all, she’s believed in me at times when I didn’t believe in myself. Without her, I couldn’t have mustered the strength to complete this process. She’s a godsend, and I love her with all my heart. Andrei Stefanescu was there when I stumbled into this project during my junior (his sophomore) year as an undergraduate at Chapel Hill, and he’s left an indelible mark on its intellectual architecture. Andrei is a brilliant biostatistician, mathematician, and epidemiologist who has contributed more to my ideas about evidence and causation than perhaps any other person. As both a researcher and a person, he’s committed to and cares deeply about American Indian people, and he’s always pushed me to make my work helpful for indigenous communities. After surviving middle school, high school, college, and some graduate school together, Andrei and I have developed a trust that can only come from personally observing all the ugly, embarrassing minutiae of someone else’s transition from adolescence to adulthood. No matter how near or far apart we’ve lived, he’s been a steadying, constant presence in a world of uncertainty. His daily phone calls have snapped me out of countless depressive funks and self- important existential crises. Our conversations have sometimes been about this project; more frequently, they’ve provided a much-needed outlet to vent about our careers and personal lives, exchange grim jokes about politics and current events, and shamelessly luxuriate in our shared obsession for Carolina basketball. To call him my best friend would be an affront to the iv inexplicable, unbreakable bond we’ve developed over the past fifteen years. Andrei is my brother. I also owe a debt of gratitude to Nicole Harvey. For five of the most important years of my life, Nicole and I were partners in every sense of the term. Our relationship is an uncommon one, forged over half a decade of sharing the most minute details of each other’s lives and work. As an artist and fellow academic, Nicole helped me come to terms with the so-called creative process. She has critiqued my work more honestly than anyone else yet has managed never to hurt my admittedly delicate feelings, a magic trick I attribute to her disarming Philadelphia bluntness. Over the course of my academic career, I have worked with some of the most brilliant historians who have ever lived; collectively, they’ve set such a high bar that even my feeble imitation of their craft looks pretty good. As an undergraduate at UNC-Chapel Hill, I was blessed to work with Theda Perdue and Malinda Maynor Lowery. Back in 2011, Theda was (and remains) a legendary scholar and founding mother of American Indian history; I was a pimply, ignorant, undergraduate nobody. Simply signing off on my senior honors thesis would have been generous; instead, she enthusiastically line-edited my drafts, oversaw my graduate school applications, and guided me to my first (and still only) academic publication. Just as importantly, she also trained my other mentor at Carolina, Malinda Maynor Lowery. Malinda has been a great friend and priceless resource. I estimate that she taught me about nine-tenths of what I know about Lumbee Indians. She is an intellectual giant and one of Native America’s greatest treasures. When I list the members of my dissertation committee, it’s not uncommon for listeners to widen their eyes or slacken their jaws in disbelief. Matt Lassiter’s generosity to graduate students v is legendary and borders on superhuman. Matt has built an entire community of scholars at the University of Michigan who wield his ideas with the enthusiasm of religious converts. Once, after I told a Native studies colleague of mine who my advisor was, she smirked and said, “Oh, so you’re one of the Lassiterians!” Despite his unfathomable workload, Matt has always been ready to roll up his sleeves and do the dirtiest work of advising: editing horrible drafts, guiding me through academic bureaucracy, and talking me down from various crises. My co-advisor, Phil Deloria, is probably the most influential indigenous intellectual alive, and I have a hard time thinking of many dead guys who’d beat him either. Tiya Miles is the most gifted storyteller- historian of our generation. She’s a (certified) genius with an intellect that is razor-keen. She’s also the only genius I’ve ever met whose genius isn’t her best quality. That would be her unshakeable moral uprightness, which I’ve seen both in her work and her compassion for me and my fellow graduate students. Barb Meek is a genuine friend and such a great teacher that she even got me to swallow some critical theory. She’s also the funniest member of my committee. Matthew Countryman is a close second, and I’ve benefited tremendously from his insights and frankness. I firmly believe that there is no better place to be a graduate student than the University of Michigan. The history department staff has done a remarkable job covering up for my absent- mindedness and total inability to understand paperwork. I am also grateful the other graduate students in the department. Most of the actually productive conversations I had in graduate school happened over drinks or while milling about during office hours. Habitual offenders included Nora Krinitsky, Katie Rosenblatt, Courtney Cottrell, Jacques Vest, Adam Johnson, Tatiana Cruz, Andrew Walker, David Spreen, and Antonio Ramirez. vi Finally, I would like to thank the Lumbee, Tuscarora, and other indigenous community members who taught me over the course of this project. Virginia and Howard Brooks welcomed me into their home when I showed up as a stranger on their doorstep. I have tried my utmost to honor the stories they gave me by transmitting them faithfully and respectfully. I owe an immense debt to Bruce Jones and Rod Locklear, original directors of the Lumbee Regional Development Association, for the time they took to educate me about their lives and careers. Both are giants in Lumbee history. I also want to thank Christina Theodorou of the American Indian Center at UNC-Chapel Hill, who fleshed out my picture of the great Doctor Fuller Lowry and taught me about the urban Piedmont Lumbee communities. I wish a happy retirement to my friend Danny Bell and want to thank him again for taking me to Lumbee Homecoming. The first time I went, I got sunburned and felt alone; when I went with Danny, I got sunburned and felt like family. Thanks as well to my Cherokee and Keetoowah friends in Oklahoma: Asa Lewis, Corey Still, Travis Wolfe, Eric “Dalala” and Krit Marshall, Kinsey Shade, and the rest of the gang. You guys were the first to showed me just how beautiful Indian Country and the reason I wanted to hang around.